Madness, Revisited
by oceanfirehearts
Summary: The requested sequel to Kisses Were Never Meant to Hurt. Can trust ever be regained? Work in progress.
1. What's Pizza?

From the corner of a dark cell, a figure could be seen taking ragged breaths of salty air, coughing with every intake and shuddering with every out

Disclaimer: We should all know by now that I do not own these characters…

--

From the corner of a dark cell, a figure could be seen taking ragged breaths of salty air, coughing with every intake and shuddering with every out. If not for the pale hand visible in the little light allowed into the room, one could accurately assume that this figure was a dementor hiding in the depths of the darkness, just waiting for one wrong move from a prisoner and the honest excuse for a fatal kiss. The figure shook its head and its limp hair swung from side to side, matted and greasy. The hair cast a shadow on the figure's face, which was covered in grime and heavily scabbed. The despair on the inside was clearly reflected on the outside – the story of somebody who had given up.

Draco Malfoy was his name, and murder was his crime. The murder of a loved one, for the redemption of a lost reputation. But what is lost cannot be redeemed, for it is lost and cannot be found. It can only be returned, and redemption is not return. It is a cure. This is what Draco Malfoy had thought long before he had stopped thinking. How much of it made sense, he was not sure, but he had understood enough to realize that he was not next in line for a second chance. He never would be. Only special people got second chances. Like Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Harry Bloody Special Potter. This was the Harry Potter who would never be next in line for a second chance either, all because of Draco Malfoy. Draco Murder Malfoy.

There had never been a sentence, and there had never been a ceremony. The Dark Lord had not come calling to Draco with his great appreciation and thanks for destroying the one thing he feared in the world, and Draco had wondered why. Draco had expected something special, maybe a permanent vacation to the Bahamas in order to never be found out. Draco's father had never spoken to him after the incident, and he had never tried to bail his only child out of Azkaban. Not once. As far as Draco knew, he had never even contacted the Ministry of Magic with some lame excuse for Draco's crime. And a Malfoy always gets what a Malfoy wants – that's how Draco knew his father had never attempted any arguments for his son's release.

But that was a long, long time ago. It was when Draco was only a teenager, something about 17. Now, 3 years later, sitting alone in a prison cell in Azkaban, in the middle of nowhere, with soul-devouring dementors anticipating your every move, Draco was hopeless. He had not spoken a word since the 6th month of his imprisonment. He had not thought a thought since the 8th month of his imprisonment. If asked where he was, Draco could not comprehend the question. If asked _who_ he was, Draco would not understand. His organs were functioning, his eyes blinked as they were supposed to, his heart still beat, but it may as well have failed him 3 years ago for all he had cared. Life as a prisoner in Azkaban was not for the faint of heart. And neither was a crime like murder.

--

It was raining. Pouring, rather, and the wind was picking up outside of the cracked window he was staring out of. Leaves were flying off the trees, branches were being torn off of limbs, and birds were taking shelter under the roofs of sturdy looking houses. The screeching whistle of a tea kettle was heard the loudest amongst all the goings on, and he turned it off as quickly as he could; it was noises like this that annoyed him the most. His friend would be coming home shortly he realized, and would probably like a cup of whatever was available. Grabbing the nearest tea bag, he shoved it into a small cup and poured the steaming liquid from the kettle over the pouch that contained the little flavored leaves. The door slammed open, banged into the adjoining wall, and got stuck.

"DAMMIT!" shouted his friend as he dropped the grocery bags in his arms and tried to wrench the door free of the wall. "So.. TIRED… of this damned WIND… ALL THE TIME, IT IS.." he kicked the bags away as he yanked the door free, slammed it shut with all his strength, and locked it.

"Well," the friend said, dusting off his hands and looking a mixture of disappointed and annoyed, "there we have it. The twelfth hole from the twelfth time the wind has blown open the door and the twelfth time the knob has punched a crater into our wall. I don't know if it's the constant wind from the storms or the way this shitty house was built, but it's really beginning to get old. Especially since we can't use magic to fix anything anymore. That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard. How the hell is HE gonna find us even if we DID use magic? It's not like millions of people don't already DO IT EVERY DAY." Ronald Weasley had started ranting again. These rants were becoming more and more familiar every day thanks to the bad weather.

"And how the HELL are we going to defeat him if we can't use magic?! What are we gonna do, go muggle-style and use machine guns? I don't think so." Ron took a minute to breathe, picked up the 3 grocery bags he had dropped, and brought them into the kitchen.

"What's this?" asked Ron as he peered into the small cup that now had hot tea sitting in it. Not really waiting for an answer, he picked up the cup and began to drink as he unpacked his purchases and threw the paper grocery bags away. After he had completed this most unpleasant task of putting things away, Ron made his way over to the leather sofa sitting across from the television. He put his feet up on the coffee table that sat between the sofa and the television, and said, "It's a right mess out there. If I were you, I wouldn't even bother going in to work today. I know I'm not." With that, Ron switched on the television and began flipping through channels.

Their apartment, not a house, as Ron called it, was actually rather nice. They had working appliances, functioning and stylish furniture, a den that doubled as a social room and television room, and was connected to the kitchen. If you left the kitchen and walked into the den, you would turn left and go about 15 feet to the bathroom. From there, you would cross the threshold into a small hallway that had a closet with laundry machines and a sink on the right, and if you wished to go into the bedrooms, you would continue going left down that hallway, where you would reach bedroom number one on the right, which was right across from bedroom number two. On the very end of the hall was a room that contained a computer, a large bookcase, and various magical objects. On the walls in the den where Ron was sitting, there were pictures of friends, family, and pets. They were all magical photos, of course, which could be charmed to stand still in the event of a muggle entering the apartment. Actually, muggles entering this particular apartment was quite a common occurance. Usually twice a month, the landlord would beat unforgivingly on the front door and complain about the unsettling noises that came from the pipes. He would blame it on Ron's poor plumbing skills (Ron had told him that he was a professional plumber) only to find out that it was actually the residents across the hall who had the faulty pipes. On these days it sounded as though the door would fly off its hinges as the tiny Asian man angrily awaited its opening, and Ron would wake up grumbling about how and why in Merlin's beard did Mr. Wang have to come at such ungodly hours of the morning. The other resident in the apartment, however, never had to deal with Mr. Wang, because nobody could be quite sure of who _anybody _really was these days. If Mr. Wang ever did happen to see him, Ron would tell Mr. Wang that this was his deaf cousin, and he was not being rude, he simply could not hear a word the uptight landlord was saying.

In fact, this other resident could understand _every _word Mr. Wang was saying, and he found him to be quite the character. It was the same with the mailman. The mailman was a retired war veteran, and even though Ron always kindly explained that his "deaf cousin" could not understand him, Mr. Briggs the mailman always went on to explain the hardships of the trenches. Today, however, nothing eventful had happened besides the new hole in the wall, which by now could be considered as common as the sun setting. Looking over at the harassed wall, he noticed all the patches where Ron had fixed the previous holes, but after the third one, had never bothered to repaint.

"Oi, what are you staring at?" inquired Ron to the quiet resident looking past him at the wall of holes. "Come sit down next to me and watch this… Great Britain is losing BAD to Italy today. Beckham isn't _nearly_ up to his usual standards." Walking over to the sofa and plopping down next to Ron, Harry Potter studied David Beckham and said, "Wow, you aren't lying… wonder who drugged him."

--

Three hours later, the football game was still on. Several players on both teams had been substituted for due to multiple fouls, and Great Britain had earned only 6 more points, which sat the scores at 13 to 6. Out of nowhere, several loud bangs shook the door of their apartment, and Harry and Ron jumped, spilling the bowl of popcorn they had been eating. "What the hell…" said Ron, somewhat worriedly. "Mr. Wang is really learning to catch people off-guard." He looked out the window at the still-storming weather and then said, "and why would he climb 6 flights of stairs to bother us at this hour?" It was 5 o'clock sharp. Ron got up to answer the door, and almost before he had turned the handle, two red-headed men slammed it open, jumped into the room, and slammed it shut again.

"My god, that was like trekking up a waterfall, that was," said one of them, shaking himself off like a dog.

"No need to describe the rain, that was more like climbing Mt. Kill Yourself what with all those stairs," complained the other. "Whoo! How you two do it I will never know." He threw his wet coat on the floor and it splattered everyone with cold, wet, rain.

"It's snowing now, too." The first man said.

Fred and George Weasley were standing at the entrance of Harry and Ron's apartment, apparently expecting something warm to drink.

"Well?" said Fred.

"Well what?" asked Ron, knowing what the answer would be, but refusing to yield to it.

"Well where's my double espresso mocha frappuccino with cocoa beans? Or whatever these muggles order at the coffee shops.." He looked at Ron and said, "Chop chop, on the double!" and made a motion with his hands to shoo his brother into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, George made himself comfortable next to Harry.

"So who's playin' who today? Glad I'm only a few hours late this time… didn't feel like going into work today though. Nobody did. That's the perk to owning your own shop, you choose the hours."

"Yeah, well I didn't exactly want to make the dangerous journey down Die-For-Sure Road today in this weather either," Harry said.

"Don't blame you," answered George, "These muggles drive like there's no tomorrow."

"WHERE IS MY STEAMING HOT BEVERAGE? I DEMAND A REFUND," shouted Fred loudly to Ron, who was in the kitchen dropping a teabag into a cup of hot water.

"So, mate, how you been?" Inquired George to Harry, who was watching Fred slowly unravel a Mrs. Weasley-knitted coaster.

"I've been okay," said Harry, "the back hurts these days from the cold, but I take pain relievers for it." The injury 3 years ago from when Draco had stabbed Harry as an attempted murder had never quite healed properly. It still became aggravated in extreme weather.

"Other than that though, I've been great. I called Hermione, and her dog had puppies 5 weeks ago – she's been looking for homes for them so I told her I'd take one. Ron wants one too, so we're going to get the two males."

"Very cool, very cool," said George, "I expect they'll be named after Fred and I?" he raised an eyebrow at Harry, who said, "But of course fine sir, whom else would they be named after?" From the kitchen, Harry heard Ron say, "We are not naming the dogs after my brothers. End of story." Fred and George both guffawed and said, "You're just mad because Hermione named her dog after mum." Ron scowled and went back to stirring Fred's tea.

"So, when's dinner?" asked George, blinking expectantly at Harry.

"Oh no…" said Harry, "No way. Absolutely not. Don't you remember what happened last time?" The twins shook their heads. "And to this day, no one can quite remember how that poor old peach ended up on the ceiling."

"I'm telling you Harry, it –" George was cut off by somebody ringing the doorbell over and over, and he jumped up and opened the door. Four people entered the room, and before anybody could stop it, the wind blew the door into the wall and the second hole was made.

"CAN'T ANYBODY EVER SHUT THE GODDAMNED DOOR?!" shouted Ron, storming over to it, yanking it from the wall and slamming it himself.

"Well then, where's my tea?" asked Ginny Weasley to her brother. Ron turned red.

"GO MAKE YOUR OWN BLEEDING TEA." He yelled, and slammed himself down onto the sofa.

"Well good golly gosh, somebody's climbed up the crab tree," said Fred matter-of-factly. George followed suit with, "Now don't be a Negative Nancy."

Harry had gotten up to hug his friends. Ginny looked the same, long auburn hair free down her back. Hermione was still Hermione of course, he thought. He shook hands with and then embraced Neville Longbottom, who wore a green shirt that said "I Have Venomous Tentacula and I'm Not Afraid To Use It." He then hugged Luna Lovegood, who was wearing her trademark radish earrings, but a new necklace. This time however, it was a rather normal looking necklace, save for a gigantic tooth as a charm.

"What's that on your necklace, Luna?" asked Harry. He genuinely wanted to know.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, "It's an Egyptian Vampire tooth, I got it when I was studying ancient runes in Egypt a few weeks ago." Luna was always known to have eccentric things, but how exactly she got this necklace Harry was not sure that he wanted to know.

"Well, since apparently everybody thinks that they're staying for dinner," Harry announced, "and neither Ron or I want to cook," Harry caught Ron shoot a hopeful glance at Hermione and Ginny, "I think now would be a good time to call in for pizza delivery."

"What's pizza?" asked Neville excitedly.

"Oh yes, do tell!" exclaimed Luna. Ron looked amazed. "Pizza, dear uneducated students, is a muggle delicacy that evolved in the most ancient land of Italy…" he went on to explain the concept of Pizza as though it were a great treasure worth obscene amounts of money, and sooner than later, Harry was calling in orders to the nearest pizza delivery restaurant.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Author's Note: And so here you have it, the beginning chapter to the largely-requested sequel of KWNMTH. This is going to be a much more complicated story, and eventually, just as dark as the last one. Maybe not as twisted. But I'm sure MOST of you will be happy with the ending. And don't worry, the explanation for why they cannot use magic is in the next chapter. I'm not too sure how the muggle elements of the story are going over with you guys, but I hope you're not TOO enraged by them… also, I am looking for a beta!


	2. Deeper than Shallow

Disclaimer: The usual… praise JK Rowling

Disclaimer: The usual… praise JK Rowling?

--

As awkward as this moment was, it was not nearly as upsetting for Ron as it would be for Harry. After having shown up at their apartment no less than 5 hours ago, Percy Weasley, Minister of Magic, had been trying to convince Ron of the advantages of releasing Draco Malfoy from Azkaban. It was almost a week since the day Fred and George and the rest of the old crew had decided to show up at the apartment for dinner, and still, nothing eventful had happened – save for this moment.

"So tell me again who in the hell put you under the Imperius curse and told you to try to convince _us_ that letting Draco Malfoy go free is a good idea." Ron was infuriated. Even the mention of Malfoy's name got him riled up to the point where he would randomly swing at any given object, or kick the leg off a chair.

"Ron, I need you to see reason in what I'm saying," began Percy again, but Ron cut him off.

"And what exactly makes you think you can _make me see reason_ after all you did to our family only a few years ago? What exactly gives you the right to tell me its okay to release a murderer and a liar on so-called _false charges_ and let him roam the world on his own? Siding from the fact that this is DRACO MALFOY we're talking about, since when do _you_ think it's a GRAND IDEA to let this kind of person out of Azkaban?"

"Ron. Listen to me. I have held meeting after meeting after meeting with the Order, and the highest authority possible – I cannot even begin to explain to you how this has worked out, nor do I have any idea of how it _will_ work out, we just have plans to follow. I understand that it makes you –"

"NO YOU BLOODY WELL DON'T. It wasn't YOUR best friend who almost got MURDERED. It wasn't YOUR best friend who was betrayed, lied to, manipulated! Just because you were elected for this pompous job doesn't mean that you get to decide who lives and who dies and who goes free just because you think they can whisper in our ears some petty little secrets! How do you know if Malfoy hasn't gone INSANE? How do you know if he would actually TELL THE TRUTH?"

"We won't – but we have to be willing to find out. If you can write off a list of other Death Eaters who would be willing to play slumber party and gossip all night long about You Know Who's latest dilemmas then by all means, tell me who I can send the invitations to! Otherwise, this is our only chance to get valuable information on what has happened in the past, and what could be happening in the future."

"And you're telling me that Malfoy will remember little bits of information from 3 years ago. After sitting in a cell with psychopathic inmates and dementors watching his every move. You're telling me that it _probably hasn't_ all gotten to his head and he _probably won't_ lie to us or deceive us in some way? His track record isn't all that clean, Percy."

"I realize that. And if you think I'm enjoying telling you that we have to do this you're wrong. The mere _idea_ of letting him go free is as offensive to me as it is to you. But you have to understand that even if he lies, even if he tries to deceive us, and even if he isn't sane enough to remember whatever he was told, if he was ever told _anything_, at least we _tried_, Ron." Ron sighed at Percy's last argument.

"I don't think we've got enough time to _try,_ Perce," he said solemnly. Percy couldn't say much back.

"Malfoy will be released in two days time. The ministry has made arrangements for him to live at a top secret location which has only been revealed to Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody. I don't even know where he will be. Probably better that way."

Ron just sighed. The decision had been made even before Percy had come to confront Ron about it, and Percy's only argument towards that statement was, 'I had only come to warn you and Harry.'

"But Percy, what I don't understand is," Ron furrowed his eyebrows and crossed his arms against his chest. "Why it has to be _Malfoy_ and not some other lucky person who's in on this whole Dark Lord thing." Wasn't this what Percy had explained to Ron several times already? He sighed and began talking again.

"Draco Malfoy is the only one most available to us. We can hardly stomp in on one of You Know Who's little parties and ask to see the nearest Death Eater. It doesn't work that way. I have serious ministry powers I can use if necessary, freeing people from Azkaban being one of them. I'm going to use what I can to help defeat the Dark Lord. We may not like what has to happen, but it _has to happen_, Ron. Draco Malfoy is easily accessible, and that's why we're going to use him."

"But why do we have to _free _him?" asked Ron once again.

"Technically he won't be free. He'll always be registered as an attempted assassin, but he won't be at Azkaban," Percy added, seeing Ron begin to get angry again, "we can always send him back if he tries to pull anything.. or _malfunctions_, and tries to kill one of us again."

"You talk about him like he's an object we're going to use and throw away. Or borrow and return."

"Yes. I think it's easier for us all to think of it that way."

"But we're going to _use_ him. He won't be _helping_ us. And we won't have to associate with him outside of when we need him." Ron had to be sure there were no strings attached.

"Essentially, yes. Think of Malfoy as a rental object. Only there for the necessary requirements – nothing less, nothing more. And when we're done with him, if he isn't right enough in the mind to live on his own and timing doesn't allow him to stay free, all we have to do is send him back."

Ron nodded his understanding, and Percy left him to ponder how in the world he was supposed to tell Harry.

--

That night over dinner of roast beef sandwiches and chips, Ron thought about when it would be a good time to speak with Harry.

Harry had come home from work about half an hour ago, and had been telling Ron about a sale that was going to be happening in the next few days. Being an employee, Harry said, was the best thing because he got 10 off discounts on all merchandise on top of any sale. The children in he and Ron still enjoyed buying large boxes of merchandise from the twins' joke shop where Harry worked – they got lots of laughs letting loose the new Un-Catchable Cockroaches in the front lobby of the hotel where an unsuspecting Mr. Wang was watching sitcoms on a miniature TV set in his office. Shouts, bangs, and breaking objects could be heard as Mr. Wang tried to throw trash cans and glass jars over the bugs as they scurried around the carpeted floor.

It was now or never, Ron finally thought.

"Harry, could you come to my room for a minute? I have to tell you something."

"Sure, mate." Harry picked up his plate and followed Ron into his bedroom.

Ron lay on his stomach on the bed and Harry sat on the floor, back leaning against the wall as he finished his dinner.

"What's up?" he asked. Ron sighed and placed his head in his hands for a moment, and then looked up at Harry who could see the unhappiness in his best friend's eyes immediately. "Ron, is everything okay?"

"No. Not really. In two days, Draco Malfoy is going to be released from Azkaban."

Harry blinked at Ron and narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Harry, this is gonna be really hard for you to hear, but Malfoy is going to be released on false charges and we're going to have to work with him to fight against You Know Who." Ron was afraid of what Harry might say or do.

"What do you mean false charges?" Harry asked. "He was never charged with anything, he never had a hearing, I never even KNEW he was in Azkaban until a year after…" he trailed off, not being able to finish his sentence.

"Harry, Malfoy was charged with attempted murder," Ron said softly. "The only reason the Ministry decided not to hand him over to the Dementors was because they thought he might be of use in the future, as they think of any confirmed Death Eater in Azkaban."

"Attempted murder…." Harry said under his breath, just loud enough for Ron to hear.

"Yes, because he-"

"Because he couldn't kill me." Harry finished. "Somebody else tried to kill me, and yet again, they couldn't. They tried. But they couldn't. I should be used to this by now, I really should."

"Harry, don't say that!" Ron said firmly.

"Why not? It's true. My head is worth world domination."

"Harry! Your head is worth life itself to your friends and your family–" Ron realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.

"So let them have it. I'd be following my family anyway. At least I'd be going in the right direction."

Ron didn't know what to say to this last statement.

"So Draco Malfoy is going to go free in a couple of days and I'm going to have to talk to him."

Ron wasn't sure if Harry was not comprehending, or just coming to terms with the fact that he was going to have to face some particularly negative memories.

"Yeah. Something like that," said Ron carefully.

"So this is how it's going to go," recited Harry from what he imagined to be the first meeting. "Hi. I'm Harry Potter, I used to love you once, and then you tried to kill me. Except it didn't really work, and you got sent to Azkaban and now you're a lunatic. Oh yeah, and what kinds of things did Voldemort tell you about his evil plans to kill me and dominate all man kind?"

"Harry," Ron said, eyes tearing up. "It's not going to be like that. I'm going to be there with you, and so is Hermione, and a bunch of other people and we're going to keep you safe. I'm going to be there _with you _Harry, and if Malfoy tries any sick shit I'm going to rip him apart limb from limb. I will make sure he suffers. I know it's going to be hard as hell facing him-" Ron cut himself off and sniffed loudly. He didn't care if Harry saw him cry.

"I'm not afraid to face him," Harry said quietly, looking up at Ron. "I'm afraid to see him insane. I want him to remember who we were before he tried to kill me. And I want him to remember _why._"

Ron understood. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. I'm sorry he betrayed you like that and I'm sorry I never saw it coming. And I'm even more sorry I was such a bloody bastard to you because of him."

"You don't have to be sorry Ron, you had every right to be a bastard. You didn't know what was going on, you were scared, and then you saw your best friend get killed moments before you were going to apologize. If I had seen that I think I would have killed _myself_."

"But you didn't die."

"Which makes it worse, because then you have to live with it every time you see me."

"No. I have to live with the fact that the worthless bit of scum who did it still lives and breathes."

It was silent for a few moments.

"Harry, you're a brother to me. I'll always be there for you and I'll always be there to back you up." Ron was tearing up again.

"And I hope you know I think the same of you," Harry said. He got up from the floor and embraced his best friend. "We'll get through this."

"Always the strong one," Ron chuckled.

--

Alone. Alone he was in this dark cell he couldn't call home. Where was home? Home was anywhere he happened to be at the moment, he supposed. No. Home was a happy place, a place you could go to and feel joy simply at the fact that you were going somewhere familiar and comforting. This place was not comforting. This place was hell on earth - it was the place you went when you did something so bad you weren't allowed to breathe normal people's air anymore. You weren't allowed to share the same sidewalk as a normal person. Your only company was the crazy old man in the next cell who offered you two hands and asked if you wanted carrots or beans for imaginary dinner that night.

Personal space was scarce. Though you were alone in your cell, you had little more than 5 feet to stretch out when you slept, and you had no more than a ratty and torn up cloak for comfort. Breakfast was almost non-existent. Ten crackers and a bowl of thick broth was considered a delicacy, and you were lucky if you even got yours. Most of the time the workers were too scared to venture up into the topmost cells because that's where most of the dementors prowled. But at least you were considered a high-priority prisoner. Or was it a high-alert prisoner? Either way you were high up, and that was what you had wanted your whole life. That's what had gotten you into trouble.

Your head hit the cold stone floor. You must have been falling asleep. Let it come, there isn't anything better to do. You already counted the bars around your cell. You already counted the stones that you slept on. You lost track a long time ago. Somewhere there are screams; more like everywhere there are screams. They're getting closer, so close in fact that you yourself might be one of them. There is a loud click and a sudden coldness, but you ignore it; you're too used to things like that to be bothered by them now. But this is new… you're being lifted up by the arms and kicked in the back. Get up they are telling you, you are lucky to be leaving this godforsaken place. Leaving? But you only just got settled in! You haven't even had time to put up the new curtains and shag carpet you tell them, and they laugh and say the Ministry of Magic is going to have one hell of a time getting through to you. You've gone mad just like everybody else who comes in here. False charges they say, now relax, you're going to be knocked out for a while so they can transport you out and back into the real world. Whatever. This _was_ the real world as far as you were concerned.

--

It felt as though Harry was going into battle. Battle always had a specific feeling, and this was definitely it. He was sure he would know what to say, he kept telling himself. Ron was on his left and Hermione on his right, holding hands. _'Hermione might be the most nervous of us all,'_ Harry thought. She had spent hours ranting and raving after Ron had told her what would be happening. Ranting and raving was something Hermione had never seriously done before – she'd had her bitchy moments, as everybody had, but this was a new level comparable to Uncle Vernon. And now, she had her game face on.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered a courtroom. This office was strangely familiar to the one Harry had been in before with Mr. Weasley, but he guessed that all the offices at the Ministry probably looked very similar to each other. _'Today is the day,' _he thought bitterly. Harry wasn't sure what to think. The trio was sitting across from a large wooden cherry-stained desk. There wasn't much else in the office besides this desk, a leather chair that accompanied it, and a filing cabinet. The walls of the room were a boring off-white color, and the filing cabinet wooden to match the desk.

"So what exactly are we waiting for?" asked Ron, already somewhat annoyed. The three had been waiting for 3 hours already, just roaming the lobbies and different floors of the Ministry of Magic building. They had been told be there early, but this kind of early didn't exactly please them. Today was the first meeting with high-alert ex-Azkaban prisoner, Draco Malfoy.

"I don't know," said Hermione. "It sure seems like the Ministry is taking their sweet time with this… I know how many precautions and safety measures it takes to make something like this possible," she sighed. "But this is getting ridiculous."

"Definitely not customer satisfaction," replied Ron. "How are you getting on, Harry?"

"Bored," Harry replied. "I really don't see what's taking them so long. Can't they just shackle him and drag him in here or something?"

"Works for me," Ron grumbled, crossing his arms.

Just then a loud knock on the door interrupted their complaining. Arthur Weasley entered with a cheery smile on his face. He was holding a large box under one arm.

"Good morning crew!" he said happily. "Now I know what you're thinking, why am I so happy and what's taking so long?" Ron was about to speak, but Mr. Weasley shushed him.

"No no, just listen. Percy had just informed me that Mr. Malfoy is now inside the building and is being searched for weapons or wands of any kind. He has to be given clean clothing and then he will be lead down here by two guards. I was told it should take about an hour," Mr. Weasley was interrupted by a loud groan from Ron, who crossed his arms tighter and rolled his eyes. Even though now 20, Ron still acted like a child when his patience wore thin.

"Don't roll your eyes at me Ron," Mr. Weasley said hurriedly, "because I have something that will make this extra hour all the more enjoyable!" he was beaming. Mr. Weasley put the box he had been holding on the desk, opened it, and pulled out what looked like an oversized cup that sat beneath some sort of machine. Harry and Hermione recognized it instantly.

"I have a coffee machine! Bill was telling me how he and Fleur went to a muggle restaurant for breakfast this past week, and said that they had ordered a special drink called coffee… anyway, he just bought a machine for himself. I decided that maybe we should try one, so I picked this up on my way here," Mr. Weasley explained. "I asked the store manager for the best one they had available, and I bought it. He was very confused when I handed him the money to pay for it though, seemed to think I wanted to tip him…" Mr. Weasley had unknowingly given the store clerk far too much money, as he was unfamiliar with muggle currency. "But he accepted it and I got this beauty right here! So all we have to do is read the directions and plug it in. I bought some of the stuff you put inside of it too." He looked very confused, and glanced at Hermione and Harry.

Hermione understood and asked, "Would you like me to help you get it working then?"

"Oh that would be wonderful!" Mr. Weasley said, clapping his hands together excitedly.

Almost an hour later, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley were enjoying several strong cups of coffee. Hermione and Harry had stopped after their first, both being familiar with coffee and the effects of caffeine. Ron had not liked the taste at all – he had sipped his and slammed it back down as though he had just taken a drink of liquid soap. He had not understood that most muggles liked to add sugar, and refused what Harry had offered, saying it would probably taste worse. Mr. Weasley however, had loaded up on the sugar, and was now moving on to what was the 5th cup for him.

"Mr. Weasley, five is a little much…" Harry said, eyeing the man who was becoming slightly twitchy.

"Nonsense. Now I understand why muggles get up so early in the morning, they have this wonderful kind of beverage to drink! It's so…" he couldn't find the right word to describe the coffee. "Unrealistically tasty." Mr. Weasley sighed happily and put the already empty cup down on the table.

"OH!" he suddenly jumped up and looked at his watch. "I was supposed to check in with Molly 20 minutes ago to update her on the progress!" It was obvious that the caffeinated drink had affected Arthur, who had shouted rather than spoken, and who was now trying to button his jacket with shaky fingers. "Ah well! She won't be too upset I assume, last I saw her she was only just waking up, but if you kids want some more coffee, by all means, have some, and good luck with the meeting! Oh and when you're done please bring the coffee machine back home to me Ron, I think Molly should try it but I expect she'll be a _little_ wary of it at first so I should probably try to just –"

"Dad, just go," said Ron, smiling.

"Oh you're right, well I'll see you later then! Have a nice day!" Mr. Weasley left the office and shut the door a little harder than he probably had meant to.

"Hermione, I think you should talk to Mr. Weasley about coffee later on," Harry said, his grin reflected on Hermione's face.

"_Please_," said Ron, "Whatever the hell muggles put into that stuff, it's making him loopy." He shook his head and said "yeesh."

Harry and Hermione laughed.

There was another knock on the door, and Percy Weasley stepped into the room.

"What in the name of Merlin is wrong with Dad?" he asked Ron. "Told me not to drop the lobsters when I said good morning to him."

Hermione, Harry, and Ron all burst out laughing at once.

"He's had coffee," said Hermione through tears of laughter "and a hell of a lot of it."

"He's had what?" asked Percy, confused.

"I'll tell you later," giggled Hermione.

"Well anyway, I've come to tell you that Draco Malfoy is ready to come in for the meeting. He's right outside the door. There are two guards with him, but they'll stay outside. If something goes wrong and you need help, just shout out, 'Well would you look at the time!' " Percy always used this phrase as code words for help.

All happiness that had lingered in the office previously was now replaced by nervous anticipation.

"Moody will show up in about 20 minutes. Just get acquainted with Malfoy for a while before the questions begin. And good luck." said Percy, and he left the room. Harry heard him give the okay for Malfoy to enter the room, and Hermione briefly gripped his hand.

--

Draco Malfoy entered the room and took the seat across from the trio. The tension was tangible and the air was stuffed and heavy. Harry took a moment to assess his former friend and now proven enemy. Draco's hair was shoulder length, just a few inches shorter than his father's. He had dark circles under his eyes, which looked dead. They were the eyes of somebody who was looking but not seeing, Harry noted. Draco's skin had a greenish tinge to it, and looked sick. Harry wondered if he had been allowed a bath or shower of any kind. His face was scarred and scabbed from apparent acne and blemishes, and his arms were red and raw as if he had gotten a bad rash that wouldn't go away. The plain gray clothes didn't help either, and they hardly looked fresh like Mr. Weasley said they would be. Harry noticed that Draco was near emaciated. Where was the quick-witted, secretly kind-hearted, _beautiful_ boy Harry had known years ago? _"Most prisoners don't last long in Azkaban, only because they know they are guilty." _His godfather's words echoed in Harry's mind. Had he expected Draco to be as full of life as Sirius had been when he was released? _'No,'_ thought Harry. _'Draco actually committed a crime – Sirius hadn't. That's the only reason he stayed sane.'_ So then did that mean that Draco Malfoy was _in_sane?

"Good morning, Draco," Hermione's ever-friendly voice broke the silence. Harry had to admit, if he were in Draco's position Hermione would seem the easiest candidate for a friend.

Draco simply blinked at her. Harry didn't blame him. What could one possibly say after 3 years in prison and no outside contact?

Draco's mouth opened and his throat made a noise that nobody understood.

"I'm sorry?" said Hermione politely. How she could be so polite Harry could not figure out.

Draco made a noise again and Ron threw up his hands and said, "Great. Just great. He's bloody insane, that's what he's trying to tell you Hermione. He doesn't know where he is and he doesn't know who we are."

A single tear slipped down Draco's cheek.

"But I'm not," Draco said so softly his words could have been mistaken for a light breeze. Unsure of where to look, Draco stared at the floor like a shy child.

"I don't think anything's wrong with you Draco," Hermione spoke quietly to him.

"NOW ISN'T THAT BEING A LITTLE TOO BLOODY FRIENDLY?" shouted Ron, leaning across Harry to see Hermione.

"Yes," said Draco, again almost silently. Hermione just looked at him sadly.

"I didn't come here to be yelled at," Draco said.

"YEAH WELL WE AREN'T EXACTLY GOING TO THROW YOU A PARTY NOW ARE WE?" yelled Ron again, this time directly at Draco, who's tears were now flowing freely.

"I wouldn't want one," Draco whispered, eyes still staring at the floor. "I came because they wanted my help, and I want to give it."

It was Harry who spoke next.

"Do you know you want to help, or do you _think_ you want to help? You have to be truthful this time, Draco."

Draco had stopped crying, and looked Harry directly in the eyes.

"I don't think," he said "I haven't _thought_ about anything for the last 3 years. I can't remember _how_ to think, so use me and use the information I can give you, and then you can send me back to Azkaban. I think it would be easiest that way. For all of us."

This was not the answer Harry had been looking for. He didn't know what to say.

"Draco, we _want_ you to help us," said Hermione. "We don't want to use you. We want you as an ally."

"I can't." Draco said simply.

"Why not?" asked Ron, "Don't you owe us, like, your _life_?" Hermione immediately shot him a death glare.

"Yes." Draco responded. Nobody noticed that he was staring at Harry as he said this.

Just then the door slammed open, and a loud and gruff voice said, "Alright, alright, salutations aside, let's get this over with." Alastor Moody hobbled into the room and started pacing back and forth.

"So tell me what you know, boy. Make yourself useful."

Draco drew in a sharp breath, and Harry swore he could have counted every rib beneath Draco's thin gray shirt.

"I don't want to disappoint you."

"Then talk and you won't."

"I don't know much."

Moody looked skeptical. "Don't tell me we have to use Veritaserum on you _already_," he groaned, stopping the pacing and looking at Draco.

"You can if you want. I'm not lying."

This was killing Harry. This broken Draco that wouldn't stick up for himself and gave simple answers without a fight was going to be the death of him. Harry knew exactly where Draco was in his despair, but he wasn't about to reach out just yet. Harry wondered if he should even bother at all.

"Okay, so for argument's sake, say you _are_ telling the truth," reasoned Moody to Draco. "Say you _are _being honest and we can talk candidly between this _little group of four people._"

"I'm not going to tell anyone about what goes on in here," said Draco. "I'm not allowed any human contact unless it's these meetings."

"AH!" exclaimed Moody. "But you KNEW what I was thinking as soon as I thought it! You had better not be planning on _summoning_ anybody little boy," growled Moody. He had put extra emphasis on the word 'summoning' and everybody had picked up on it. Moody suddenly lunged at Draco, who shrank as far back into the leather chair as it would allow him. Moody ripped up the sleeve of Draco's left arm, looked at it, looked back at Draco, and shouted into his face, "WHERE IS IT?" His eyes were wild.

"I burned it," Draco said simply. His face and voice were void of emotion.

"What do you mean you _burned it?_" asked Moody, once again scrutinizing Draco and furrowing his eyebrows.

"I mean," began Draco, "That I burned off the mark."

"Why would you do that? That mark could have helped us in so many unfathomable ways!"

"I'm sorry. I just didn't want it anymore." Draco looked as though he was seriously afraid of offending anyone.

"So you go and set yourself on fire to disfigure the mark on your arm like it doesn't matter."

"It mattered, that's why I got rid of it." Moody let go of Draco's arm, giving Harry a brief chance to examine it. He quickly realized that the red splotches all over Draco's left arm were scars from fire. Harry wondered why Draco would put himself through something so brutal.

As if reading his mind, Draco looked at Harry and said, "It wasn't who I was. It wasn't who I had wanted to be, it was something I was _forced_ to be." And then for the first time that day, Draco looked at Harry and said, "I'm sorry."

Although he had no idea what had just been exchanged between the two, Moody said loudly to Draco, "You damn well should be!"

Harry ignored this comment and spoke honestly to Draco, "I know you are. I know."

'_Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all,'_ Harry thought.

Oh how little did he know.

--

Author's Note: Okay, this story takes place BEFORE we find out what happens in DH. So no, Fred is not dead, neither is Moody, and Voldemort is still around. I wrote KWNMTH a long time ago, so this is supposed to go along with that story's timing, whatever you perceive it to be. Think of it as DH never happened. Sorry to confuse anyone. But please, review review review. And I'm still looking for a beta.


	3. Half of Remorse

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all.

--

"Well, that was certainly an…. _interesting_ meeting," said Hermione, trying her hardest to be positive. "He's not at all like I imagined he would be."

"How did you imagine him, Hermione? Smiling all big and bringing in Firewhiskey for us to share?" Ron wasn't amused. "We still don't know that he isn't insane."

All Harry could do was walk quietly next to his friends, all three of them exiting the Ministry.

"How do you think it went, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"I… I don't know," said Harry slowly. "I can't believe that there are _Gryffindor_ Death Eaters." As he said this, Harry couldn't help but worry less about it than he played off. He was more worried about Draco, and where things would go from there. _'He had apologized after all,'_ Harry thought to himself. _'But who can say it actually meant anything.' _He had the awful feeling that Draco's apology may have just been hollow words, just like every other word he had ever spoken to Harry. _'Trust myself to worry about this now. Trust myself to jump into what doesn't need to even be considered. He tried to KILL you. What's done is done and it changes EVERYTHING.'_ Harry was already mentally putting himself into check.

"Harry…. do you hear me?" a faint voice interrupted his thoughts from far away.

"Sorry," he said automatically, "what?"

"We were just wondering what you wanted to do for lunch, it's nearly noon," Ron's stomach growled loudly. "We could always go back to our place, or go see if mum will feed us…" Ron would do anything to avoid cooking for himself.

"Why don't we try something new?" suggested Hermione, as they walked down the sidewalk and through the muggle city. "I hear there's a new muggle restaurant that opened up a few weeks ago. We could go there." The three decided it was a plan.

--

I feel like I have been awakened. I know now that I didn't succeed, but that's okay, because he's alive. When have I ever succeeded anyway? I couldn't talk to them about what I know. I made a pact, a promise. I promised I wouldn't say anything to anyone – because if I do, _he'll_ find out and I'll be dead faster than I can blink. I told them little tiny secrets, the ones that don't matter.. the ones they'd find out anyway eventually. There are Gryffindor death eaters. I didn't tell them how many though, or who. People they used to be friends with. I didn't tell them why, either, so at least they don't know that. Moody asked for recent information… how the hell could I tell him anything when I've been locked up for 3 years straight? I told him what I heard last – or at least what I _could_ tell him in order to keep myself out of that godforsaken place, but keep myself alive. I told Moody that Pettigrew is dead. Well, he is! But Moody doesn't know why. I fed Moody the usual.. you know, more people want to kill Harry, Dark Lord is growing stronger, blah blah blah.

Now back to the reason I feel so alive. You see, I felt like I had died when Harry died. After I stabbed him and he breathed his final breath, I left myself to the mercy of the weasel. And you guessed it, he was merciless alright. I probably would have died that night had Granger not stopped him. And then they sat next to Harry as I was fading in and out of consciousness, and cried. And then Granger screamed, "HARRY! HARRY CAN YOU HEAR ME?" and I thought, _'He's dead and you still think he can hear you. Smart girl.' _And apparently, I fainted. Later on, or days later as I was told, I woke up in a cell with a young man my age at the time. He was in for murdering a muggle family. I almost had a friend there, another living being I could talk to during my stay, until he died 3 days later. Starvation. I never got another cell mate after that. That's when I stopped talking, thinking, and wished I had stopped breathing too. I don't remember much at all from that point forward. When I left Azkaban, I even had to ask the guards how old I was – 20, they said, and I said, "Already?" I only remembered that I couldn't sleep and never got enough to eat. I went to Azkaban knowing I murdered someone. Regardless of who it was, I would probably have felt bad, but for murdering a loved one? Murdering _him_? Oh, that was torture for my simple little brains.

So why did I do it? Why did I kill the famous Harry Potter? Well, many reasons. Partly my father. I wanted to avenge my mother's death, and by killing somebody else I loved deeply, I felt that I had paid her back somehow. Almost like a sacrifice to the gods – a sacrifice and thanks for my mother's love. Reason number two was for the horrible, infamous downfall of any Malfoy – pride and reputation. Knowing my father hated me so was only one more reason to do something to make him…. _tolerate_ me. I wanted to make him proud, to make him want to call me a son again, and I would be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind at all while I was stabbing Harry. I wanted to be Daddy's Little Boy. In retrospect, that was hardly part of it, but the reason was there. Most of all, I wanted all the heartache to end, and I wanted to be one to end it, to break off the relationship – but not the one to witness Harry's pain afterward. It took me _so_ long to convince myself that I was doing the right thing by killing him. It took me _so_ long to convince myself that _I_ was doing _him_ a favor. My reasoning? If I ended the relationship and he lived to know about it, he would be unhappy for the rest of his life. I loved him dearly, don't get me wrong, but we couldn't go on for so many reasons. We were being ridiculed, he was being harassed by his best friends, and I was receiving death threats compliments of my father. It was a lose-lose situation from the start, and still, it kills me to admit that. I wonder what we could have been had nothing ever gone wrong. But once again, I was the one to commit the crime. I could have killed myself, but I chose to kill him, because _I_ had to live knowing that he wasn't going to suffer for the rest of his life. I was happy to take the suffering onto my own shoulders for him, even if it meant for all eternity.

So imagine my surprise when I walk into this Ministry office and see none other than Harry Potter sitting across from me. It was too much, really it was. But it was enough of a surprise to pull me out of my own little makeshift world and remember that I was alive. My mind was a little rusty at first, but I started thinking about how things had sorted themselves out in such a way that we were both sitting here today. I couldn't look Weasley or Granger in the eye, and I know that had the guards or Moody not been there, Weasley would be feeding my head to his pet hippogriff right now. Not the most pleasant of things to think about, but so true. As excited as I am to see that I failed in my attempt at killing Harry, I now bear the burden of the fact that he lives everyday knowing that I tried to _keep_ _him from living_. It's kind of ironic when you think about it. I apologized to him, but that's hardly something that needs to be done at this point. That's like saying, "Hi there, I'm sorry I tried to kill you, please forgive me? I swear I didn't mean it." I don't know how he took it, but what's worse is that I don't know if I even _meant_ it.

--

Thirty minutes had passed and Ron was getting annoyed. "Where is our bloody food already? How can muggles take so long to make a roast beef sandwich?" He took another sip of his tea and noticing the waiter pass by their table, he shouted, "Oi! Sir! Can I have another cup of tea please?" The waiter nodded and walked into the kitchen to get Ron's tea.

"Not everybody is able to whip up something out of thin air, Ron," said Harry, shaking his head with a grin on his face.

"Yeah I know that mate, but really, it IS taking a long time."

"Do you like fresh food, Ron?" asked Hermione, and Ron nodded. "Well that's what this is, fresh food. They cook it up when you ask for it, that's why I like this place. They don't freeze things overnight."

Ron seemed to be considering this.

"So… not to bring up foul thoughts," began Hermione, "but we need to figure out who these Death Eater Gryffindors are and track them down."

"Yeah," said Harry simply. "But I can't see how that's going to be easy considering we're supposed to be discussing the fate of the world with someone who has less than ¼ of a brain left." As soon as he said this, Harry felt guilty. He hadn't meant for it to sound so harsh.

"Amen to that," said Ron. "Malfoy is one corrupt bloke. How can we even be sure he's telling the truth?"

The look on Hermione's face made Ron gape at her.

"No, Hermione… Hermione, you can't be serious. You actually believe him?"

"Ron, I-" she stopped her sentence just as the waiter arrived with their entrees. Harry and Ron began eating, but Hermione was watching Ron.

"Okay, do I have something on my face?" he asked her, mouth full of roast beef sandwich.

"No, I.."

"Spit it out or start eating Hermione, just don't stare at me like that!"

"I'm sorry." She sighed and began talking. "It's just that yes, I do believe Malfoy, because-" she stopped suddenly and glared at Ron, whispering loudly and firmly, "Don't you look at me like that! Let me finish!"

Ron shrugged, but glared back.

"I believe Malfoy when he tells us that there are Gryffindor Death Eaters, because I heard it from Neville myself. Before the meeting. Months ago."

As soon as this statement was spoken, Harry's fork clattered to his plate and Ron dropped his sandwich back onto his plate with a loud thud.

"You've got to be joking," Harry said, his voice suddenly very low and serious. Apparently he had spoken for Ron as well, whose jaw was simply opening and closing, lost for words.

"I'm.. I'm sorry for keeping it from you, but I couldn't be sure, _we_ couldn't be sure, as Neville was in a state of panic," Hermione was rushing through her words now, stumbling over a few every now and then. "I- he was attacked," she said. "He came to me one night with injuries, bad ones. Gashes and cuts and lacerations, and a concussion. When I asked him what had happened I had expected him to say something like 'I got attacked by one of my plants in my greenhouse,' not, 'somebody we used to be friends with came and attacked me asking for information about Harry Potter's mental weaknesses,'" Hermione stopped talking when she saw Harry lean his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands.

"Harry?" Hermione lowered her head and tried to peek through Harry's shaggy hair as best she could.

"I think I know who it was." Harry seemed resigned.

"How could you?" said Hermione softly.

"You know, don't you?" he asked Hermione.

"Yes, but.."

"No," said Harry. "I won't pretend I don't. It was Thomas. Dean Thomas."

"Harry, I'm so sorry…" Hermione reached across the table and held his hand.

Ron was still silent, gaping at Hermione and Harry.

"Shut your mouth Ron, you look like Dudley," Harry snapped at him.

"I, wait a minute, just wait!" Ron exclaimed in rejection. "You're telling me that you BOTH knew Dean Thomas attacked Neville Longbottom because he's Harry's most recent stalker?"

"Ron don't – that's not what we said,"

"SHUT UP RON."

If Ron had not seen Harry's mouth move he wouldn't have known that it was him who had said that so forcefully.

"I'm just saying, dear God mate, relax."

"How can I relax? Somebody else is after me!"

"Yeah but you didn't know that until-"

"I knew it. I knew it because I saw the signs, I heard the rumors, I _suspected_," said Harry.

"But Hermione only just confirmed it!" Ron said loudly back to him.

"Actually, Ron, I suspected something too," said Hermione. "Neville only confirmed it for me."

"Oh, so what now, I'm the stupid one because I'm the only one who didn't suspect anything? I must be slow then, because now I'm _really_ confused."

"Oh Ron! Stop it! Just listen!" Hermione waved her hand at him in a silencing gesture.

"Neither me or Harry actually _knew_ anything," she began. "You do remember Dean Thomas correctly, right? He was always interested in the Dark Arts, and we always used to find his books and studies about them lying around the common room in school?"

Ron nodded affirmative and rolled his eyes. "Yeah he did a damn good job hiding his obsessions didn't he?"

"Yes, yes, anyway, one day right before school ended, I think it was a Wednesday," Hermione began her story.

"One day before we all left, I went into the boys' dormitory to make sure you two hadn't forgotten to pack anything, because you always do.. Oh don't look at me like that Ron, I was just trying to be helpful. Anyway, I came across Dean's journal lying open across his trunk, which was also open. I couldn't help myself-" Hermione blushed, just having admitted to reading somebody else's journal.

"Oh you're so _bad_, Hermione!" exclaimed Ron, mockingly. This comment didn't help the flush color of her cheeks as she continued her story.

"So I read the open pages of Dean's journal, and by the looks of it he hadn't finished his entry because the sentence of the last paragraph was cut off. I remember word for word what it had said—" Hermione recited the words slowly and clearly:

"_Three days. Three days until I finally belong to something,_

_until I'm finally a part of something special. I've learned a lot_

_here at Hogwarts, but the knowledge can only help me so much._

_Unfortunately, I've also had to hide my beliefs from everybody I_

_know, because only half the wizarding world shares the same thoughts_

_and ideals that I do – "_

"And that was it. That was the ending paragraph. The rest didn't matter, it was just every day journaling. Like the things one does in a day and writes about to remember years later."

"Hermione, how does that tell us anything?" Ron asked, earning himself yet another glare, this time from Harry.

"It tells us _everything_ Ron, just listen.. here Dean is writing about belonging to something, becoming somebody. If there's anyone who knows how to interpret something like that it should be me," said Harry. Hermione gave him a sad but understanding look. "Then Dean says, 'I have to hide my beliefs because only half the wizarding world believes what I do..' Is it not obvious to you what he's talking about, Ron?" Ron shook his head, thinking. Harry went on to explain.

"What is one _most likely_ to do if they want to feel like they belong? They're going to join a group of some sort, look for other people who feel the same way they do, look for other people who _belong to something_ themselves and share the same thoughts as the person seeking," Harry gave Ron a minute to comprehend. He apparently still didn't.

"Dean joined the Death Eaters, Ron!" Harry said loudly, not understanding why this wasn't as obvious as Ron's red hair. "Think! He said _'I've had to hide my beliefs… only half the wizarding world shares the same thoughts and ideals as I do..' _Dean was a pureblood and grew up in _that_ kind of household. He was never evil, he just didn't belong and wanted to feel as though he did.. so he joined up with the Death Eaters because he felt like it was the one place he truly belonged even if they _did_ have some extreme ideas."

"Extreme ideas my ass." Ron was getting mad.

"But don't you see the truth of it?" Harry asked him, looking at Hermione for support.

"Yeah," sighed Ron. "Yeah, I do. But I can't believe it. He hated anybody who wasn't a pureblood."

"No, he didn't." said Harry, "that's just the thing. He didn't hate them, he just had different ideas about what was right and wrong, and even if it meant that he joined a group of fascists instead of live with the people who disagreed with him, he would do it for his own comfort. Who does that sound like to you?"

"Pettigrew." Ron spat out these words like venom. "He's a miserable little scum is what Dean is."

"No, Ron, we don't have to ha–" Harry was cut off.

"Actually, yes, we do." It was Hermione who spoke next. "You don't know what he did to Neville. What Dean had become after joining the Death Eaters." She was very pale and reluctant to speak. Harry was surprised Hermione had agreed to hate somebody.

"He wanted any information on you, Harry. Any information on your weaknesses, your dislikes, and your likes. Neville said Dean acted like he was writing a biography or something. He said Dean drilled him for any information he knew, and he didn't know why, because he thought you and Dean had been friends and he should have known all this without Neville's help. At some point, Dean confessed to Neville that he was working for the Dark Lord along with some "Gryffindor followers" and with them on his side, the Dark Lord was sure to have some sort of special insight on how to bring you down once and for all." Hermione looked sorry that she was explaining this.

"When Neville lashed back at him and said that he wouldn't give any information to somebody so pathetic, they dueled, and Dean used Sectumsepra on Neville and vanished."

"So Neville came to warn you, because he knew you'd be the one most likely to take him seriously." Ron was understanding as Hermione nodded.

"I spent weeks thinking about it, and talking to Neville. And then we went to Harry."

"And you three remembered all the signs from school.. and Dean's obsessions…" Ron was piecing things together.

"Yes. But we still have no idea who the other Gryffindors are that Dean had threatened Neville with."

"Well what are we waiting for?" said Ron. "Let's get to figuring this shit out!"

Harry chuckled. "You only _just_ figured it out, genius – slow down, you might re-confuse yourself."

"What?" asked Ron, lost yet again.

"That's what I thought," said Harry, grinning.

"What I don't understand Harry," Ron began through his last mouthful of sandwich, "is how _you're_ so calm about all this. Hermione explains this whole story and you're sitting here making fun of me like nothing ever happened. I don't understand how Draco Malfoy is allowed back in town and you still sleep at night." Ron regretted saying this as soon as it left his mouth. He was never one for considering things before he spoke, and he wished with that knowledge, Harry would understand how he had just let himself say this.

"You know what?" said Harry, "I have no idea. It's just eating away at me inside."

Neither Ron nor Hermione could tell if he was being serious or sarcastic.

--

Two weeks later, despite the fact that they thought they had found a lead, the trio couldn't come up with anymore information on their own, and they were fresh out of ideas. Questioning Neville hadn't helped, as Hermione had already told Harry and Ron what had been said to Neville. However, he had promised to tell them immediately if something else came to mind, as insignificant as it may seem. "So what do you propose we do about this newfound ocean of knowledge?" asked Ron, as though he had just discovered a new world. He plopped himself down in the middle of his and Harry's couch and stretched. Harry sat across from him on an armchair and sighed. Hermione, meanwhile, was interested in other things.

"Don't you two ever clean this place?" She drew a finger across the top of a picture frame and a disgusted grimace fell over her face as she noticed her now-dusty finger.

Ron just rolled his eyes. "Yes, Harry shines the silverware and I dust the top of the picture frames every two weeks. Sometimes if we're feeling especially crazy we even manage to disinfect the door hinges."

"Well all I'm saying is that it seems like your _every two weeks_ is long overdue," Hermione replied sarcastically, but obviously somewhat amused. "I don't understand how with you two as room mates this apartment is as clean as it is. I suppose your redneck wall is the exception here." Ever since Hermione had returned from a trip to the States with her parents she had been using the term "redneck" to describe things that she deemed as "crap." So it was "redneck wall" for the description of the wall Harry and Ron's front door had kept putting holes in, it was "redneck mobile" for Fred's beat up old car that he drove to the joke shop since nobody close to Harry was allowed to use magic, and it was "redneck suit" that Draco Malfoy had worn every time the trio had a meeting with him.

"You know," Hermione started carefully, "I think it's time to drill Malfoy again. Maybe this time he'll 'remember' things now that Moody will only be waiting outside. I think Malfoy is intimidated by him."

"I suppose," said Harry. The three made their way out the apartment door and into Ron's car.

"You do know how to get to the Ministry, right?" Hermione asked Ron skeptically.

"_Yes Hermione,_" he answered in annoyance.

--

A little under an hour and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking through the doors of the private office that they used for their meetings. Alastor Moody was sitting in a leather chair behind the desk that usually separated the trio from Draco Malfoy.

"Ah, and here come the jury!" exclaimed Moody sarcastically.

"The what?" asked Ron, to which Moody replied, "Nothing. Muggle expression."

"We're ready," said Hermione. "We have some very specific questions to ask Malfoy today."

"Miss Granger, always the smart one, I assume those questions are valid?" Moody asked.

"Yes, very valid."

"Well then. I regret to inform you that Mr. Malfoy is in no current state to be questioned. Come back in a few hours time and perhaps he will be better and ready to answer." Moody said this very matter-of-factly, and gave Hermione a false smile.

"He'll be _better_? What's happened to him?" she asked, a little fearful that due the fact that there was something wrong with Malfoy, whatever it was might change his answers to their questions.

"Is there something wrong with him?" asked Harry, trying to mask his worry.

"There was _always _something wrong with Malfoy, Harry," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "How can you be sure whatever he's doing isn't another one of his little tricks?" Ron was skeptical.

"Because, Mr. Weasley," began Moody, "_What Malfoy was doing _wasn't his fault. And that is the first and only time I will ever defend that little scrap of scum."

"Well what the hell happened then? You're acting like it's some massive secret! Just tell us already!"

"PATIENCE, Weasley." Mad-Eye Moody was never one to be shouted at, as Ron had just made the mistake of doing. "He woke up screaming, and mind you, those dreamless-sleep potions administer to him every night are _extremely _strong."

"Screaming?" inquired Hermione.

"Yes. Mr. Malfoy woke up in a panic, shouting some nonsense about being sorry and 'taking it all back,' and began talking to himself. I doubt he is in any mood to meet today. I doubt he is completely sane today."

"What exactly did he say?" asked Harry slowly, almost afraid to proceed.

"Well," sighed Moody, "Some of it was gibberish, and some of it was understandable, but from what we understood, he said, _'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll take it back, give me another chance! Yes I lied, a mistake, a big mistake, I lied, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, give me another chance. I don't deserve another chance. Give me another chance.'_ So you see, nonsense indeed, but whatever all his shouting was about, he is truly sorry for _something_ he did. And it was the tone that made me _know_ he is sorry… you could feel the pain in his voice."

"Well isn't that strange…" began Ron, eyeing Harry. Ron could be slow, but even he couldn't miss this. "He is certainly sorry for _something_. I wish we knew what it was." As he said that, Ron caught Harry's eye, and noticed his best friend looked terribly heart-broken.

--

Author's Note: Long time no update, I know. But here it is for you. I already have the next chapter almost finished.


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